


Shut Up and Vote Krab

by cthchewy (pyrrhic_victoly), RainofLittleFishes



Series: Marginalia [3]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Attempted Non-Consensual Nose Sex By A Cephalopod, Collegestuck, Fluff and Crack, Fraternities & Sororities, Gen, Lusii, Other, Pets, Rule of Cute, Sweet Dreams~
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-07
Updated: 2016-08-01
Packaged: 2018-06-08 13:52:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 8,708
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6857623
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pyrrhic_victoly/pseuds/cthchewy, https://archiveofourown.org/users/RainofLittleFishes/pseuds/RainofLittleFishes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A totally normal college AU.</p><p>(Vote or die!  Krab for student body president!)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Cows Come Home

Two generals stand before each other, their armies behind them. The battlefield is silent but for the sound of grass rustling in the breeze and crunching under their sandals. General Ampora has one hand on the reins of his trusty steed as he stares down his opponent.

“Will you surrender?” he asks, breaking the silence.

The enemy general’s expression is as grim and determined as Eridan’s own. When a response is slow to come, Eridan’s troops begin buzzing in anticipation, his soldiers whispering to each other to prepare for combat. The opposing army is well-trained – enemy soldiers all in position, still and silent as they wait for a command. Seeing how coordinated they are, Eridan grits his teeth, knowing full well that this will be his toughest battle to date. 

However, his centurions and the legionaries beneath them are swift and fierce. A deadlier force has ne’er been assembled since the days of Alexander the Great. “Steady,” he says to his men. He loosely holds out his right arm, palm forward. “On my mark...”

“Get them,” General Nitram says. Such strength, such conviction! This simple phrase is all that is necessary for his troops to come flying out from behind him before Eridan can react.

“Go, ride forth! Attack!” Eridan sputters. He leaps onto the back of his trusty steed. The enemy general is unmounted; Eridan will take this opportunity to crush him on seahorseback.

The buzzing increases to deafening levels as the centurion bees take wing, zipping toward the center of the battlefield faster than the enemy fairybulls. General Ampora’s forces fly while holding onto their crested helmets with one leg. Even so, Eridan notes that his soldiers each still have one more leg up on their opponents. The odds are still in his favor.

...If he can get them to take this seriously.

The centurion bees are all laughing behind Eridan’s back and he knows it. He can hear their little bee snickers and, even as he leads them to glory, he’s plotting their demise. He shall install SeahorseDad in a place of honor; his loyal mount would never betray him. 

Trouble arrives in the tiny form of Lieutenant Tinkerbull, who flutters up to gaze directly into SeahorseDad’s eyes. 

“Moo,” he says.

SeahorseDad snorts in confusion.

“Moo, moo-moo?” Lieutenant Tinkerbull flutters further in to give SeahorseDad a nuzzle. “Mooooooo,” he calls to the other fairies, who promptly surround their new prisoner of war.

"Traitors!" Eridan shouts as his army defects, as his most trusted advisor betrays him. 

"Onward," points the gentle hovering compass needle of Tavros's arm. 

"Noooooo!" Eridan cries, as he is subsumed in the rising tide of cute cuddly fairybulls. And cows. One fine little heifer hovers above his face. She has very long eyelashes, very liquid eyes. 

"MoOooo?" she inquires. And all is lost.

All around him, his centurions are rolling, swooping, diving, frolicking in mid-air with the fairies. His most trusted advisor is being nuzzled on all sides by highly affectionate flying bovines.

Eridan holds the fine little heifer in his hands. He gently strokes her back. "Mooo, mooOoo," she says.

The enemy general approaches. He says, "Her name is, uh, Heidi."

Eridan returns home defeated, but upon his shoulder is Miss Heidi. He finds it is not such a loss.

Except then he wakes up. “What an awful daymare,” Eridan thinks, as he staggers out of his ‘coon to wash up. “How embarrassing.” 

He looks in the mirror – it’s never too early to start preparing to take on the world. 

But wait. Why is he wearing lederhosen?! (Bzz. There's a faint snicker in the background. How many bees did it take to change him?)

“Moo?” inquires Miss Heidi.

It’s all coming back to him. Did he really publicly attempt to take over the frat in nothing but a toga? Okay then, he has two options. Retreat to alpine meadows to sing and dance with the fairy cows, or… “Miss Heidi, how do you feel about life as a privateer?” 

“Moo?” Shrug. Miss Heidi’s wings sparkle. 

It’s decided. Miss Heidi gets an eye patch, black with purple rhinestones. She doesn’t really need an eye patch, so sometimes she wears it on the left, and sometimes on the right, and sometimes as a necklace. 

When the fierce and terrible Eridan Ampora, Privateer, overtakes a vessel, sailors claim you can hear a terrible soft high _moooooooo_ and the tolling of a tiny fairy bell. There have never been any deaths. And yet. None ever sail again.


	2. Enter the Madame

"Hand over one of your stupid fairies, Pupa." Gamblignant Vriska Serket, pride wounded from her recent defeat, corners Privateer Ampora's weapons dealer. "And make it cuter than _Miss Heidi_."

Damn that cow! Damn her and her adorable tiny eyepatch!

"Uh, how about, no," Tavros says.

"Are you telling me no? Did I hear that right."

"I don't see why that, is the surprise you're making it out to be. I've, uh, told you that a lot, recently."

True, ever since Tavros took command of the frat's defense force, he's been getting uppity with her. This would be fine - ok, no it wouldn't, but it would be less not fine - if Vriska's sorority wasn't at stake.

"Eridan's attacking us girls and you're telling me _no_."

"That's not, my problem. He's a rogue agent, and I'm only on defense. Besides, the fairy chooses the troll, not the other way around."

"Siiiiiiiigh. Wow, Pupa, way to let us all down."

For a moment, Tavros appears chagrined. Vriska internally cheers her guilt-tripping skills. Then he says, "Sollux has been, lending out his bees as a mercenary force. You could, maybe, ask about that."

Yeah, bees! Vriska flounces off to go contract herself some bees. She imagines sailing into battle once more, with the might of 88 pirate bees behind her.

It's only when she's well out of earshot that Tavros begins to snicker to himself. "Ehehe... Hehehe... _Excellent_..."

Vriska hasn't gone into battle with the bee army before. She wasn't around to see Eridan's attempt, either. She doesn't know... The bees... They obey no one. (Except Sollux, but he's an enabler.)

 

* * *

 

Two pirate captains stand before each other on the deck of the Mindfang.

"How bold of you to come," says Gamblignant Serket, long coat dramatically flapping in the breeze.  She scoffs.  "Who would have thought you'd sink so low as to board the ship of one of your own kind, and your old partner no less!"

Privateer Ampora's lips curl up in a sneer.  "Our D&D days have long been over.  You are nothing to me now, nothing but the latest fool to stand in my way."

"Mooo," taunts First Mate Heidi.  Ampora has no crew save for her.

"So that's how it's going to be?  Make 'em walk the plank, men!  Yarr!"

Serket's call to arms is met with a tiny bee chorus of "bzz-arr" from her crew, all 8x8 of them.  (The other 24 crew members she'd requested were unavailable due to currently being on loan to the art department.  Each one has been assigned to shadow an art student and roleplay as a personal Snobby Art Critic shoulder demon.  It is what the bees do best - being judgmental.)

The armies fly forth.  Miss Heidi stops short and begins her cute-trap.  The bees, rather than trying to resist, buzz happily and go along with it as if they had planned to betray Vriska all along.  Miss Heidi has formed a bee vortex around her.  Moo, nuzzle, moo, buzz.

"What-- Attack!"

The bees do not attack.

"Attack Ampora, he's unprotected!"

The bees snicker.  Eridan snickers.  The whole _audience_ snickers.

This is Vriska's worst daymare come true.  The "improv performance" that she'd advertised all around campus as a ruse to humiliate Eridan on stage is backfiring spectacularly.  Vriska will never be able to live it down.  Not only has she been defeated once more by a singular fairycow, but it was on stage in a packed theater no less!  What will her sorority think?  What will the other theater majors think?  Her reputation as a badass has been ruined forever; she will have to take refuge with... ugh, with the _nerds_.

 

* * *

 

Eridan returns to the frat hive victorious, with a bee entourage trailing Miss Heidi.  He is forced to leave his window open because Miss Heidi has a steady stream of visitors in want of cuddles, and his frat bros are less than pleased about getting dive-bombed by bees every time they open the door or a window.

One unfortunate frat bro pulled the grate off a vent because of the noise and got a face full of bees, an unpleasant episode for everyone involved. The bees would like to note that he had terrible personal hygiene.

Tavros, meanwhile, is already cuddle central. His roommate, Karkat, spends ten minutes every morning just shooing off tiny fairy cows so he can have his own space, but he wakes up covered in bovines every night. Sometimes it’s a combination of cows, bees, and aerial cuttlefish. The cuttlefish have no sense of personal space. None. He really wishes that the pink and tangerine one with the spots would stop trying to sex up his nose.

Finally, as a last resort, Karkat releases the locks on his crab cage and lets out his nine pound coconut crab to patrol. The bees are ambivalent. The cows think Madame Grabby Claws is very chic and cuddly. Madame Grabby Claws locks onto the pink-and-tangerine menace so that it not only lets go of its face hugging ways, it tries to flee and can’t make it out with a nine pound anchor attached.

Feferi is puzzled. She hasn’t seen Mr. Swizzle Stick in a week. Wherever could he be?


	3. Making a Spectacle of Ourselves

The cows are correct in thinking that Madame Grabby Claws is very chic. She is the most fashionable crab. It is her. This is because Kanaya designs the Madame's dresses. In the coming days, Kanaya is bombarded with dress orders from fairy cows looking to emulate their new crabby idol.

(Tavros' army grows ever cuter, ever stronger. Soon he will rule the world. Or become president of the student union. Or become the shadowy mastermind behind Karkat's presidency. One of those things. He hasn't yet decided which to go for.)

Madame Grabby Claws lumbers into Kanaya's workshop one day sporting a squirming pink and tangerine scarf. Her usual entourage of fairy cows seem very enthusiastic about acquiring scarves of their own, and Kanaya guides them to a selection of gauzy fabrics. Kanaya also rescues Mr. Swizzle Stick and replaces him with a fabric scarf.

Mr. Swizzle Stick returns to Feferi and vows never again to be tempted by Karkat's sexy nose. He hasn't, however, completely given up face-hugging. Eridan's window is open... His glasses are pretty neat.

 

* * *

 

**> Be the aerial sea creature**

You are the dashing and squishy Mr. Swizzle Stick, and you think that you have found your Holy Grail, your Romeo, your Dulcinea. From a frame of two twitchy violet seadweller earfins gleams the sharp and enticing lenses of your new beloved. You see their glint from across the quad and you cannot contain yourself, you are in love… or at least serious covetous lust. The violet seadweller does not notice as you cleverly stalk him back to his residence to rescue your beloved. You ascend to the second floor and silently float through the window, edging your way towards your beloved. Though a mountain of grouchy seatroll lays betwixt the two of you, you know that your love, or at least serious macking, is written in the stars.

Da dun. Da dun. Da dun da dun da dun. Dun dun dun! You strike and the seadweller shrieks and flails. Free ride on his face, you and your beloved are dancing a tango on the defeated body of your temporary nemesis and all is right in the world. And then you hear it.

"Maaaaaaahh."

Ah, beloved, if only you had fled while you could.

 

* * *

 

**> Be the dance floor for a tentacle tango**

You are the seadweller with a cuttlefish on his face (oh god, there’s something _up your nose_ ) and you never thought you would find any use for Gamzee’s pygmy fainting goat, Ernestine. Ernestine is the reason that you cannot leave _anything_ out, not textbooks, not scarves, certainly not homework. When you get in your ‘coon at night, first you lock your hamper, and your closet, and your desk drawer with your glasses in it, then you pray to a higher power (any one will do) that you wake up with all your hair. She might fall over when scared, but at this point you’re the one who’s scarred by rooming with her. And everything smells like goat and greasepaint. Miss Heidi tries to distract you, your lusus tries to sign you up for extracurriculars, but nothing makes up for that Hermes scarf. Nothing.

And yet tonight, Ernestine is your goatly salvation, because Mr. Swizzle Stick has hugged your face for the last time, if you have to feed him to the goat yourself. Feferi will just have to believe you when you tell her that there was nothing you could do. She won’t be able to stay mad at Gamzee. You will be home free, finally.

 

* * *

 

**> Be the goat**

You are the adorable Miss Ernestine, and your dear master’s roommate has finally come around to adore you as he must. He is offering you a squirmy orange-pink pudding. How kind. You accept, but find that it is not in fact a pudding but an adorable flailing pillow. D’aww. You are going to hug this pillow, you are going to hug this pillow and name it Gorge. You skip off down the stairs to show it off to your housemates and you only stiffen once, but the pillow saves you from further injury. Good pillow. Best friend.

 

* * *

 

**> Stop being the goat.  Be the troll who is no longer a dance floor.**

You are once again the assaulted seadweller and there is nothing for this offence but to go solicit sympathy. Kar laughs in your face. Your bruised and battered face. You will have your vengeance. You sign him up to run for student body president. If he thinks he’s busy and has no time for complaints now, oh ho _ho_...

Miss Heidi flutters and brings you a cold pack for your poor battered face. At least you have one source of sympathy. Your traitor of a lusus is off romancing a dragon lusus in the honors quad. If he gets pregnant with ginormous seadragon hybrids you’re going to laugh in his face and lock him out.


	4. Preggers Not Keggers. Still in the Closet.

**Eridan: deal with pregnant dad**

SeahorseDad comes back pregnant. You have no idea how he managed to get that massive dragon egg inside him and you never wanna know. You were going to lock him out, but that was before you saw how pitiful he was; before you realized you were gonna be a big brother.

The egg is so big he flies with a limp. You call Tavros and Equius over to help because they know the most about beasts and medical procedures, respectively. (Miss Heidi is adorable as ever in her little nurse costume.) Now your room smells like goat, greasepaint, and horse sweat. It's also covered in glitter from the two minutes Gamzee woke up from his drugged stupor to go on about the MiRaClE oF lIfE and brought out the MoThErFuCkInG wIcKeD fAiRy DuSt to help you all GeT yOuR cElEbRaTe On.

Equius and Tavros are assisting Dad with the re-laying.  You wring your hands as you stand by, fetching hot water and towels as the need arises.  Nervously, you ask Equius if he's had to do anything like this for his pre-med classes.  He's going to be a docterrorist, right?  You've heard horror stories about trolls with certain sexual predilictions getting oversized grubloaves stuck in their nooks.  The emergency room is a scary place, huh?

He informs you that he's an art student. 

...Haha, how silly of you to forget!  You say you must have messed him up with Tavros, who's going to be a vet, right?  _Right?_

Tavros softly stutters out that he's studying intergalactic business.

Well.

"But you _have_ helped lusii give birth before?"

"Uh, yes.  But, only fairy cows, which require, um, tweezers.  And a magnifying glass."

SeahorseDad neighs in alarm.  You grow wide-eyed, frantically looking around for any other sources of medical assistance now that your first two instinctual choices turned out to be so far off the mark you might as well have been aiming backwards.  No one in the frat hive answers your distressed holler for a med student, and Dad can no longer fly.  It's too late now, you'll just have to make do with a suit and a sculptor of classic musclebeast nudes.

Gamzee has passed back out on the floor and is now a stationary hurdle that must be crossed as you move back and forth from your room and the other blocks in the hive.  This is why you hate your roommate.  There is a _crisis_ going on here, and he just fell asleep mumbling about baby showers.

At least his stupid goat isn't around.

 

**Ernestine: rise up**

You are the lovely and lively Miss Ernestine, and it is about time you made your debut into high society. Your new roommate Miss Heidi has been regaling you with tales of shopping at Maryam's Boutique, having tea with friends at the Lusus Cafe on Main St., and engaging in intellectual conversations in the parlors of Professor Pucefoot and Doctor Berrybreath. You can't imagine why Miss Heidi gave up that life to become a pirate, but that's pity for you. She followed her love onto the high seas... How romantic!

In the past you had been too scared to attend such events, for what if they made fun of your country-girl accent? What if you had a fainting fit and landed in the drinks? But now you have the dashing Mr. Swizzle Stick Gorge as a benefactor and really comfy pillow, as well as the support of the rest of your master's hivemates, and this has bolstered your courage. Your first step, as it is for anyone seeking to join the inner circle, is to present yourself to the most powerful lady of all: The Madame. Grabby Claws.

 

**Karkat: witness something strange**

You are now the unwitting candidate for student body president. The sad thing is, the more you shout at people not to vote for you, the more they say inane bulge-up-their-own-nooks things like "we could use someone like you who doesn't want the power". Fuck the power!  Yeah, you'd take the power if it were free.  You just don't want the extra _work_ involved with the post because if these nookwhiffs actually make you their leader, your leadering instincts will kick in, and by the horrorterrors you will fucking lead them to _glory_.

You pace the room, back and forth, trailing bees and bovines behind you.  The sound of Eridan's muffled shouting comes in from across the hall, but you ignore him.  Bastard.  You know it was him who signed you up for this.

Madame Grabby Claws sits atop her cage. Placid, immovable, she reigns over the room like a nine pound Queen Crab.

There's a thump at the door. The fairy cows answer it.

"Maaaaah." It's Gamzee's goat. She better not be here to eat your stuff.

Ernestine prostrates herself before the Madame... Actually, she falls down. Oh, she lands on a cuttlefish. Oh, she's getting back up. And now she prostrates herself properly.

Madame Grabby Claws regards the newcomer with her usual stony-faced grace. She slowly lifts one giant claw. Rise, young goat. The Madame accepts you into the fold.

You are still Karkat and you have no idea what the fuck you just witnessed. When did your pet crab become so influential? You still remember the days when she was too small to crack her own coconuts. Nonetheless, you now have a plan.

Madame Grabby Claws will be president in your stead.


	5. Your lusus is a deadbeat

**Eridan: miscalculate**

The egg, or your new little “BrOsIsDuDe” according to your wreck of a roommate, is nestled in a heap of last season’s clothes in your closet. You find yourself not minding that they will never be salvageable. For 23 hours of the day, SeahorseDad sits on the egg. The other hour, broken into 15 minute breaks, you awkwardly mound up the clothes and pat it. You don’t care how long SeahorseDad had to hold it while waiting for you to get back from class. You are not sitting on it, not even a little. Okay, so Miss Heidi sits on it while you guard them. She looks really fierce in vegan leather and studs. You don’t wanna know why Dad and his dragon dame had to go play hide the breakfast food instead of just incubating it, but you’re not going to be the one responsible for another infant mortality statistic.

Now before you get in your ‘coon, you lock the hamper, your desk, and the closet with SeahorseDad and Egglet included. You don’t think The Goat would eat your little baby sib, but you can’t trust clowns and Ernestine only _looks_ innocent. She is a terrible hellbeast, even when she comes home wearing a gauzy summer dress, pearls, and paint on her little split hooves. Kanaya is such an enabler. 

You’re in the library studying calc with Equius when you realize that you’ve been missing half the equation all along. The other half of the equation is in fact coming through the window at you with a sword and a mouthful of sharp teeth. Two mouthfuls actually, one each belonging to the dragon dame and the smaller dragon dame. The smaller one’s the one equipped with a stabby sword and yelling “Aku soku zan!” while she lunges at you like a really dedicated Rurouni Kenshin cosplayer. Her DragonMom doesn’t need any weapons, but curls her neck and blocks the exit. Equius is sweating, but this is the only part that isn’t a surprise. 

You dodge while she lunges and lists off your crimes, including the waylaying of the Scourge Sorority mascot and “crimes against fashion”. 

“Now wait just a minute! I ain’t never stolen no venomous stuffed beaver,” you retort. “And this here cape is forward thinkin'.” 

She stabs at you and you parry with your calc text.

“Objection! How did you know the beaver was venomous?” 

The two of you are circling Equius, who has his arms raised like he's been told this is a stick up. Miss Heidi is perched on his head.

“It’s in your sorority chant, between the parts about sisterly justice against rapists and eating your dead.” 

She stops and you think maybe you’ve just about passed the formalities and can get on to introductions. You are wrong.

She breaks the pause. “Your cape is still stupid.”

“Likewise,” you say, pointing to her cosplay getup.

“I understand that we are now related.” 

“Yup.”

“I find this inherently objectionable.”

“My roommate is a clown cultist, cry me a river.”

“Denied. Pyralspite wants full custody.”

“Denied. SeahorseDad has been sitting on that egg 23 hours outta every day. Where was Pyralspite when Dad was sitting in the closet in desperate need of a pee break and I was stuck late in class? Your lusus is a deadbeat.”

“Them's fighting words, privateer!”

“Make up your mind. Is this a court roleplay, a pirate roleplay, or a wild west roleplay?”

“Yes!”

“No!”

“Yes times two!”

“Go fuck a bee.”

“Denied!”

Somehow you end up sleeping in the bathtub full of sopor, because Dragon Dame (both of them) start sleeping over. Between the set of pokey elbows and the giant head and neck, there’s no room. Also, you can’t sleep because every time Terezi jams you with an icepick elbow, you wake up to hear sweet nothings being muttered between your lusii. You’re not sure Gamzee’s noticed. The Goat at least hasn’t been back for a few days. 

It’s the last few days before elections, and things have been hectic. You intend to vote for Karkat, even if you have to write him in. You anonymously post to say as much on the campus forum and get treated to a hilarious rant which only makes him more popular. Misery loves company. And right now, you are one miserable bastard. 

Well, Miss Heidi loves you at least. She’s got a tiny “Vote Krab” button pinned to her cheerleader costume.


	6. Swashbuckling Daring Don’t

**Terezi: miscalculate**

Your plan is set in motion the first time you feel Egglet's mind brush up against your mind. This mental pulse is the dragon equivalent of a mammal feeling its parasitic fetus kicking for the first time.

The closet is hardly the best place to care for a dragon egg, especially if it has to be locked every morning to prevent a goat from trying to take a nibble. While you're trying to sleep, you sometimes hear DragonMom whispering to her beau through the closet door, and that is an injustice! As a (pre-)legislacerator, you take offense to this! Lovers should not be kept apart in this way, and also, your new baby brosisdude shouldn't have to be born on a pile of tacky scarves and capes.

Your room at the sorority house is much better than this purple dump. Eridan's stuff is all violet because he's egotistical and likes his own blood color too much. Gamzee's stuff is all... covered in sopor, but it's mostly purple polka dots on the days Miss Heidi does the washing. This is further proof of how lame they are because a fairy cow helps them do the laundry. You do your laundry yourself and you're _blind_. 

All these factors contributed to your final assessment of the situation: the egg must be moved. You sneak back in while Eridan's in class, tugging a little red wagon behind you, to try to abscond with the egg (and possibly SeahorseStepdad along with it). Operation Egg Extraction has begun.

Sniffing your way across the hostile terrain, you note that the only thing they've got right in the entire room are the "Vote Krab" memorabilia - buttons, stickers, posters - in various designs, half of which you made. You gently crack open the closet door and smell-calculate (smellculate?) the size of the nest. The wagon is big enough for Egglet, but it'll be a tight fit for SeahorseStepdad, too. Unfortunately, you're going to have to pull the egg from under him. He'll no doubt wake from the surprise, but if you're quick enough, you can run off and force him to chase you back to the sorority. 

You smell the Krab button on top of SeahorseStepdad; it must be attached to him. Cute! Even the lusii are getting into the Krab spirit! Now how best to lift the egg? Hmm...

You forget about Miss Heidi. She's been fluttering at Eridouche's side for weeks now and you forget that she's capable of leaving him alone for a while. You fail to sniff out Miss Heidi under the button while you lawfully raided the closet (it's a totally legal police bust, okay?) because she's so small and the stench of fish and desperation is unbearably strong in Eridan's clothes.

Miss Heidi was napping on SeahorseStepdad who was napping on the egg. As soon as you wrap your arms around the nest, she lunges at you with an angry "Mooo!"

"Step aside, miss! This is the law!"

"Moo!"

"Sir Seahorse is in a delicate state and needs a proper environment for his egg's birth."

"Moo!"

"Cease and desist, or I'll bring the full force of the law upon you!"

You draw your blade, crouch into a proper fighting stance, and... HONK! There's a stray horn on the floor.

"Whoa, when'd you all up and motherfucking get here, sis? Care to join me on this bitchtits pile of miraculous harshwhimsy horns?"

"Shut up, Gamzee." You slap a Vote Krab sticker on his forehead. "Shut up and Vote Krab." 

That is, in fact, the campaign slogan.


	7. You Might As Well Vote, Sollux Is Judging You Anyway.

**Kanaya: provide explication**

Egglet hatches on Election Night. There is a certain amount of debate after as to if this is a good or bad thing as certain precedents have now been thoroughly violated.

Regardless, by the end of the night, the results are in: The Egglet is the Student Body President, carrying the night with an unintentional write-in campaign heavy in commentary like “5o cute!” and “just l~~k at th~se ad~rabl~~dthirsty teeth!” and “OMG, liiiTTle fiiins!”.

The Krab is Vice President. Whether The Krab is Madame Grabby Claws or Karkat The Crabby Troll is unresolved. As for the events of Election Night, it happened something like this, at least according to Madame Grabby Claws when she came in for her inaugural ball gown fitting, and she got it straight from the cows:

Election night is a half-night of classes, with various non-violent activities around the voting station to lure reluctant students with the promise of free food and everyone-else-will-be-there social pressure.

Sollux was conscripted to troll the voting station, pass out ballots, track everyone, heckle voters, etc. His bees could patrol to keep a few compound eyes out for voting shenanigans, which is how an introvert ended up front-and-center at the one place guaranteed to see the majority of campus before the end of the night. He also was caught publically stating that it was physically impossible for him to care less about the results - unwise when the election had already run into more than one set of fisticuffs and kidnapping between supporters of Charmt Squige, violet junior and likely career politactician, and Vislit Prutit, the school’s star rugby captainess.

Whoever thought this was a good idea had clearly never met Sollux.

By 15 minutes in, more than one would-be voter had been shoved back out the door without casting a ballot due to violations-of-personal-space (because even if he’s not quite your cup of red leaf beverage, there’s something very je ne sais quois about Monsieur Captor. If only you could get him into your studio for a proper fitting…).

Aradia swanned in to vote and never quite left. Shortly thereafter, no one else was threatened with immolation, but no one else was able to leave without an Election Night sticker. There wasn’t actually a budget for Election Night stickers, so Aradia’s initial contribution was a roll of large blank adhesive gold circles with frilly edges, and she shortly goaded Sollux into a competition over how to print them. The results, the cows concluded when they came home, were well worth a bit of bee-dodging.

As you arrived, a junior had just staggered out labeled, “Fails at H0m0nyms”, and a dazed seadweller wandered out labeled, “Can’t Fiind A22 Wiith Map, Compa22, and Oriientatiion Lecture”. Yours states that you are a “Fuckiing Cla22y Broad”. Or possibly it was a commentary on your predilections. Either way, it had failed to insult. Sollux zapped it in an elegant but bold font, and Aradia added a few swishy flourishes so that it complemented your aesthetic. You really will have to do something to show your appreciation of her efforts at civilization…

Anyhow, sometime after you left 25 minutes after the polls opened, Terezi’s ongoing custody battle with Eridan came to a head when the two of them rolled into the student center with a small wriggler’s wagon, arguing the entire way. On the wagon was a mound of woefully wrinkled scarves, a large egg, and a seahorse lusus wearing Miss Heidi as a hat. The last two were rolling their eyes.

Neither troll wanted to miss the hatching and they’d both determined that the other would abscond with their new sibling as soon as it hatched. This is probably not overly paranoid, considering the trolls involved. DragonMom trundled in from the big lusii entrance. Shortly thereafter, The Egglet hatched, gracing the world with potentially fatal levels of cute in the form of a pearly Seadragon baby. Huge eyes. Stylish but possibly extraneous frilly fins. A tongue clearly from Terezi’s side, curled in a yawn showcasing very seadweller teeth. There was fainting, as a few of the more impressionable were overcome, but no one actually bit the big one. The Madame is very proud of her new protégé.

 

**Equius: sweat**

You are sweating. Given that you are almost always sweating, this is not an unusual occurrence. This is probably the most you've ever sweat without any physical exertion being involved, however.

The aftermath of election night has somehow seen you elected as Treasurer. You did not sign up for this, and as far as you know no one has organized a write-in campaign for you. To be honest, you've always thought your popularity was so low that no one would consider a write-in campaign unless it was supposed to be a hurtful jest. Being the center of attention makes you... sweat. Only a true kismesis would do something so cruel as to humiliate you in front of all your peers in such a way, and unfortunately you have yet to be graced with such a hateful relationship.

The only reason for your election must be the new student body president. When the Seadragon egg began to crack, you had rushed to assist with the birth. Immediately after, as you wiped down the baby with an extra towel, there began to be calls for the Egglet to be shown. Many trolls gathered around wanting to see, and the ones in the back complained loudly. Since you were the tallest in the inner circle, you hopped up on a table and lifted the baby Seadragon above the crowd like that scene in The Lusus King except with a lot more cooing in place of bowing from the loyal subjects. The Egglet's popularity was such that some of it trickled down to you despite the copious amounts of sweat that trickled down from your body at the same time.

Egglet, though not as majestic as a hoofbeast, is majestic nonetheless. Truly a worthy representative for this STRONGEST of schoolfeeding institutions. You are proud to have been there for both birthings: first the removal of the egg from pregnant lusus, and then the actual hatching. All is well, but one question remains: What is the name of our most illustrious president? It cannot be "Egglet" when there is no longer an egg!

Both sides of the family are gathered here this evening, in the president's office, to discuss this very important matter. (Only the mother's head and neck are in the room, snaking in from the window.) The Vice President and Treasurer - that is, The Krab (both of them) and yourself - are present as mediators. Also in attendance are Nanny Heidi and several reporter-bees, on loan from Sollux to the school paper.

The meeting commences with a stare-down. The baby begins to fuss; Nanny Heidi quickly flutters down with a pacifier.

Ampora fires the opening salvo. "No colors. No flavors."

On the other side, Pyrope crosses her arms and lifts her chin in defiance. "Fine. No evil emperors."

"Hey, you gotta define what evil means in this context!"

"It means any douchey lawbreaker you worship!"

"Objection!"

"Overruled!"

"SHUT THE FUCK UP!" Following his first outburst of the evening, Vantas gives them both the side-eye, which shuts them up quickly. "Eridan, stop playing dense. You know very well what evil means, but I'll spoonfeed it to you just in case. Evil means when you mention the asshole's name, any sane person - which among our shit-for-pan hatefriends means only me - will look like they want to punch out your squawk gaper. And Terezi! Stop flirting with Eridan. You're making this more uncomfortable than it has to be, and it was already uncomfortable enough to get a place in the Museum of Awkward Stepfamily Moments to start with. Don't fucking make it a permanent exhibit!"

His personality is very... STRONG. It makes you sweat.

Round Two sees the return of the stare-down. This time it's Pyrope who launches the first attack. "No Prince, Princess, or Lord anything. Duke, Duchess, whatever. No royal titles."

"Fine. No apostrophes."

This latest decree is taken with a grimace, but Terezi nods in the end. "No using royal title stuff as the name itself like stupid celebrities name their wrigglers sometimes."

"Hmph. No stupid fantasy dragon names with apostrophes where you just take the apostrophes out."

"Objec--"

"IF YOU SAY OBJECTION I'LL HANG PICTURES OF LOAD GAPERS ALL OVER YOUR ROOM AND MAKE YOU LICK THEM."

You sweat some more. He's so forceful! So... lewd...

In the end there is no compromise. Every name proposed meets a solid opposition until even the bees are getting bored with buzzing behind the opposing parties in signalling formations. Karkat finally snaps, "YOU, JARHEAD BABY LIFTER! WHAT WOULD YOU NAME THE SPRAT?"

You freeze. You maybe burst out in a new round of cold sweating. People are looking at you. They're judging. You want your moirail. You wonder for a moment what you _would_ call the baby president. Then you carefully tap out a message to your dear sweet Nepeta. Gosh darn it, these keys are tiny. The answer comes back with a chime as the forceful force of Mr. Vantas snatches your phone.

"THERE. ALL HAIL PRESIDENT SIMBAH. NOW, EVERYONE OUT OF MY OFFICE AND SOMEONE FEED THE KID ALREADY."

You feel that you should point out that it’s not actually his office but everyone else is already charging for the cafeteria. The bees have a sign, “HAIL PRESIDENT SIMBAH” and are streaming ahead. You look around. You’re the last person in the office with Karkat. He glares at you. The other Krab snaps her claws. You could probably snap them in halves with a few fingers but that seems a distant and unlikely future occurrence as the heat of his glare beats down (up) on you. You could do with a cold glass of milk. Or at least that’s how you justify it to yourself as you schloop out of the room.


	8. You Can’t Trust Bookbees. They Do it 4 the LOLs.

Trolls blast Hakuna Matata in the Student Union whenever possible. The song is everywhere. It follows President Simbah as he rides his sweaty palanquin around campus. Vice Presidents Krab and Krab motion to have the song banned in an effort to preserve sanity. However, it is noted that President Simbah greatly appreciates having a theme song follow him wherever he goes, as evidenced by his very cute head-bobbing, and so the VPs are accused of being power-hungry regents who care not for the president's wishes.

This is not, strictly speaking, an insult. It is generally said with great admiration for such highly trollish behavior.

Karkat takes to 'evil' quite well. So does Madame Grabby Claws. It really just makes them more forceful. The esteemed treasurer's sweat has never been more copious, though he has only broken one drink machine in a quest to stay hydrated. It may be noted that this particular drink machine previously had a sticky E3 button, and subsequently no longer has that problem, though it gained a modest host of others. President Simbah greatly appreciated the shrimp chip snacks, though the VPs callously declared shrimp chips not good for young seadragons and confiscated and consumed his treasured snack. The first troll to complain got sent out to get the young president a shrimp shake, hold the ice cream. So did the second, as the first was not good with instructions.

The young president, thusly fostered under the aegis of his stern VPs and the adoration of his fans, grows quickly, and Equius’s STRENGTH rises to the occasion. The VPs sternly declare that the young president will, occasionally, have to locomotive under their own power. The young president makes very sad faces. There are sighs over how very _terrible_ the VPs are, and isn’t it wonderful?

And that’s only in the first 12 hours.

Due to the direct correlation between Karkat's yelling and Equius's sweat, a betting pool, managed by bees, opens regarding the question of whether Equius will 'get his man'. More detailed bets include which quadrant, how long it will take, and whether 'his man' even knows he's being got. Other trolls, whether they were somehow unaware of the sweat equation or just sensitive to other possible relationship undercurrents, are quick to jump in on the betting bandwagon with questions such as who 'his man' is, and whether 'his man' could be a woman or other-gendered being.

In an of-course-unrelated series of events, Karkat shouts at a lot of other people in the meanwhile, and his Brimstone profile quickly achieves Rapid Oxidation. Karkat, who only logs into BS when he's inhibited, usually after marathoning romcoms, fails to notice he's achieved RapOx status, though he does almost inhale a bookbee. 

The bookbees cumulatively manage more money than anyone would think, including Sollux, who doesn’t really think about it. Entrepreneurial bees process faster than any previous augments, and that’s all he cares about. Also, he has a very precise “hand” with gluing together tiny costumes en masse, and the bees are not above remuneration for recreational assistance. (Where _did_ you think all those tiny hairy helms and armored skirts came from?) What the bees plan to do with the rest of the house share is a mystery, but possibly one worth waiting on. The Palanquin Special is only one of many enterprises that the bees manage. No one’s collected yet on The Beaver Fever Special, What Really Lies The Closet Of Lab 26A, The Reelly Quite Secret Ingredient In The Sloppy Grub Loaves Secret Sauce, Who Dies Next In Troll Game Of Thrones, or Whatever Happened to Professor Walddo After That Really Quite Impressive Rant On the Lawn of Admissions?  

There are no rules against meddling in anything other than the betting process itself, and all bets are to be called off if any concerning party becomes aware of said bets. Thus ignites the spark for secret warfare. Trolls, lusii, and pets alike form teams for matchmaking, matchbreaking, and/or general mayhem.

Also it’s the weekend, and what else would collegiate trolls do on the weekend? At least they’re not face first in their ‘coons, chugging. Except for... no, nevermind. That’s a trollequin. Covered in glitter. And Hermes scarves. What will those clowns think of next?

 

* * *

 

On her way back to the engineering lab, takeout tucked under one arm, Aradia puts fifty credits on Prutit and Squige courting Equius ash when their pitch fling cools and congeals awkwardly, then sets about doing what she can to collect. It’s quite a hike across campus, so she might as well be efficient.

She sends muttery ghosts to rattle the pipes in Squige’s seniority bathroom, imbues another set of poltergeists in Prutit’s lucky rainbow-stained rugby ball, lets that ferment for a bit, then sends bees to interrupt them the next time they try to get it on behind the ‘barns, while they’re still in the foreplay exchange of violence. The last step might take a while, but results are worth it.

We now fast forward exactly one week so that you, dear inhabitant of the realm past the fourth wall, may have a Satisfying Conclusion to one of the narrative arcs. Don’t expect it all the time. But you’re welcome.

...

Squige, like many seadwellers, is terrified of bees, because, like all good little seadwellers, and _most_ of the not-so-good little seadwellers, he listened to his sharkipede lusus when the rounds of “do what I say before something eats you” went around. Bees being irresistibly drawn to open gills is a myth, but generations of sea-lusii have used it to keep their charges from drying out their innards and then whining about it. (Also, mammalian-flapbeast lusii don’t want to nest in your hair. Do you feel safer already? You’re welcome. Again.)

Like generations of sea-lusii before him, Squige’s sharkipede lusus, now back in the ocean with a new tiny seadweller grub, is addicted to “Nights of Our Lives”, aka, In Which Everything Happens Sooner Or Later And Also This Program Is Older Than Any Other And We’re Going To Keep Going Until They Haul Us Off Air, and SharkipedeDad-please-don’t-call-me-SharkpeeDad-no-really-I’m-serious, didn’t have time for molly-coddling young Squige in his exploring-himself phase. Squige, despite troogling it several times, at the merest buzz reflexively squinches his opercula, and a few other orifices, tighter than a clam doing calisthenics. His face, normally so nice it’s been known to launch more than a few crew teams, is less than optimally aesthetically pleasing. You can open your nostrils a bit, Squige, no one looks good in that shade of muddy-violet-faced.

Prutit, having bullied her haunted rugby ball to victory thrice in the past week, really, really wants to get it on but there is clearly no on to be getting. This results in a fight. Equius, not so coincidentally, is just off Presidential Conveyance duties and, newly emboldened by the popularity that has seemed to rub off the tiny President’s tiny scales, and possibly also the copious sighs of admiration for his glistening muscles in the newly issued Presidential Conveyance and Treasury Uniform, ventures to interfere.

We will leave the newly matched ash triad to their conciliating and return to the present, which is still relatively PG-13, assuming of course, that one takes a gentle interpretation of all these beaver jokes. Well, less risqué than these three anyway. No, really, we’re not going to tell you about Equius's first time, ah, "in the middle" as the phrase goes. Voyeurs.

 

* * *

 

**Epilogue: Meanwhile, in the Engineering Department Student Labs (The Present (A Gift (You’re Welcome)))**

“But who do you think is the little spoon?” Nepeta asks, licking her own spoon as she fishes through a tub of takeout soup. It smells good, really good, and the siren call of  _almost-got-it_  is being drowned out by the enticing aroma. Your stomach growls. Aradia, whom you vaguely remember left and returned at some point with the food, fishes through her own soup with a set of chopsticks and dumps something from her bowl to Nepeta's, fishes something else out of Nepeta's and hums in a considering manner before she slurps it up with a pop. You watch the shape of her lips and think,  _how strangely elegant_ , and also,  _what time is it?_ , and  _who thought first of soup?_

“Saury?” you offer, distracted. “What are we talking about?”

The little bookbee buzzes loudly, flying a figure-eight of bee-exasperation. It waggles its tiny clipboard at you, clearly impatient to receive your wagers. You have no idea when the bee got here or what you are supposed to be wagering on, besides spoons. Something about spoons.

“Squige and Prutit were caught hate-macking behind the big lusus barns after the election upset,” Nepeta explains. She winks at you as Aradia elbows her with her utensil-holding limb and mimes a bitten off pitch kiss at Nepeta before winking at you. Wait. The election  _upset_?

“Oops... Was the election tonight? I thought it was tomorrow?”

Six teeny arthropod legs wiggle in the air as an expression of bee-frustration.  The huffy bookbee buzzes off, assuming (correctly) that you are too out of the loop to be placing any bets at this time.

“Tonight was tomorrow yesterday, Fefurri. We've been here since Wednesday. Aradia hung out at the voting station and saw  _evfurrything_. You won’t bereef who won!”

You can’t quite process that yet. You’ve been staring at your diagrams so long that it’s like everything is patterned in them. You can’t stop now!

“But I think I've almost got it!”

You are tempted, very tempted, but Aradia Megido is a devious troll and she doesn’t try to argue you into joining the couch so much as she zooms a bowl of salty delicious soup past you just slowly enough that it doesn’t spill but fast enough that you can’t quite grab it until you reach the couch. You end up in the middle, sandwiched between their feet as they both shift to brace against the couch arms. You lift the lid and drink your soup.  _Ah_. Prawn, dumpling, pepper and anise. You take a sip of broth that goes on so long the liquid’s half gone by the time your opercula twitch with the need for oxygen.

“We should reelly finish this…” You wave at your shared project, mostly sheets upon sheets of printed CADs laid out and squiggled on for comparisons. You don’t want to go back to work. You want to cuddle Mr. Swizzle Stick and sleep. You want to lean into Aradia’s heel, which she’s managed to squirm between your shoulder blade and the couch back and she’s rubbing back and forth with one limb, holding her soup with another, eating with the third and sitting on the fourth. It seems like an incomprehensible amount of coordination. You are using both hands to hold your soup.  

“We’ve got another six days and we need to sleep at some point! You should eat. And stare at silly gossip boards. And help us make judgmental but possible commentary on the inevitable relationship fallout of our newly deposed previous forerunners!” This is one of the many things you love about Nepeta, besides the fact that she’s been camping out with you to work on your engineering project. Aradia’s been here for most of it but volunteering for more supply runs. You don’t mean to be demanding, but she keeps stopping to make sure everyone has food. And water. And caffeine. Glorious, glorious caffeine. (Why is all the coffee gone?)

“I've got a summoning matrix set up in the kitchenette downstairs,” offers Aradia with a serene smile. “It's sifting for willing engineering spirits so we'll have a few more ideas. Just don't use the teapot until it's empty again.”

“What if someone does?”

“They won't. I reanimated the venomous beaver to keep watch.”

 

* * *

 

In the basement, a very frustrated theater major attempts to herd a deceased lusus back to her sorority. It is a point of pride. No one leaves the sorority! Not alive, and certainly not dead! The deceased lusus refuses to go, quite adamantly, and has a surprisingly good grip on the doorframe.

The theater major, having liberated a makeshift lasso from the prop room across campus and returned, manages to get one end around the errant beaver’s neck and winds the other around her arms and pulls. And pulls. And pulls. The beaver, straining against rope and doorframe, applies her teeth to the dominant source of tension. The rope snaps. The theater major flies.

_“Arrrrrrrrgh.”_

The little bookbee records the results.  No one had bet on Aradia being behind the missing beaver.  All profits default to the house. Heheh.

 

* * *

 

Back in the labs, three exhausted engineering students are snoozing on a couch and a doubly smiley feline lusus carefully drops two blankets on them to cover everyone without smothering anyone. The lusus nudges the blankets up a bit and takes a considering lick out of the emptied takeout containers, dumps them in the trash and goes down to the basement to stare at a tempest in a teapot.

Everyone knows that cats seeing spirits is just an old mothergrub’s tail.

Pounce picks up her rider and returns to the lab to see if they have any input on the diagrams. The first is a dud. The second is just an angry spirit. She huffs and stamps them out. The third… has promise. She extends a careful claw and scratches out comments on the drafts. She's always found it very charming how her grub grew up so artistically inclined. Most lusii can teach their charges their personal verbalization even before troll instructional communication guides, but some also have more elegant methods of didactic excellence.

A job well done, Pounce yawns and stretches, readying for a catnap of her own.  An open window lets in the strains of Hakuna Matata coming from the direction of the Student Union.  It's steadily getting louder.  The song must be following President Simbah as he rides his sweaty palanquin around campus.  Pounce pushes the window closed to muffle the screeching of Vice President Krab before settling down at the foot of the couch.

All is well.  Sweet dreams.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, okay, so you want to know how all the little untied ends end up. Fine. It's not like this might not just noodle off into more tangents in the margins now is it? [Of course not. We're not that sort of people. I dare anyone to say otherwise.] What do you want to know? Reeally? Whateveeeeeeeer.
> 
> Vriska did indeed “have to” move in with the nerds. Feferi, who spends precious little time in her room, busy as she is, has not yet noticed her new roommate. She also wouldn’t see what the big deal is about being a nerd, but then again, she is one. Vriska would like to note that no one is paying attention to her and that is unconscionable. [It only took three nights of hiding under Feferi's covers waiting for the perfect ambush opportunity that never came for her to realize this.]
> 
> Yes, Tavros is the power behind the throne as bee-whisperer. [He has been practicing his evil laugh in almost-secrecy, by which I mean "only in front of the bees and cows". They provide surprisingly useful feedback and are just all-around really nice to him. Evil minions? No no, Tavros is running a _business_ , and he has healthcare and pensions all sorted out. Competitive wages and paid vacation time, too. His _partners_ and _employees_ would never complain about the best benefits package this side of the empire. And most likely that side of the empire.]
> 
> No, he has no idea how he ended up ranked RapOx on Brimstone [Really, Tavros? All those bees and lusii and their friends and friends-of-friends...], he's just glad that sufficient bees and cows mean Vriska hasn't actually managed to lasso him yet. It's not flattering, it's just really, really awkward, and okay, he just got ash proposed? By a swarm of bees. No wait, by a cosplayer whose whooshy cloak proves to be animated by bees. Tavros finds Terezi kind of intimidating, but she hasn't tried to lasso him and also he really likes her mom. Not like that. It could be worse. Terezi is better about guessing Fiduspawn hatching than anyone, it's like fiends with benefits. 
> 
> So, where does all the "house" money go? The bees are saving up to visit some place tropical. No swarming for them, just a ride in first class, probably inside a trench coat and fedora. Not that they’ll do anything but complain once they get there, or en route. Sollux will be bereft when they leave, but they’ll come home soon. There’s no place like home to complain.
> 
> Whatever happened to Professor Walddo? Did anyone remember to push tiny rations up through the down vents in the B Closet of Lab 26A while the bees are on vacation? Nevermind, the good Professor appears to have broken the lock on their “sabbatical office” and relocated to the ventilation system to terrorize admissions. 
> 
> The latest crevice in which Eridan found glitter... nevermind, you're really better off not knowing. [That, in conjunction with the Hermes scarf-wearing trollequin? Gamzee's death is being plotted.]
> 
> Mr. Swizzle Stick’s true love remains unrequited. For now. [It's a well-known fact that Mr. Swizzle Stick is a fan of shiny things. Glitter is shiny. Who's covered in glitter, besides Eridan? Oooohhh, _Gamzee~_ It's time to kill two flapbeasts with one hurled solid mineral aggregate. **Eridan: commence plot** ]


End file.
